


Reformat Recommended

by justanexercise



Category: Dollhouse, Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossover, F/F, again not explicit, minimal Root/other characters, those parts aren't explicit, very brief root/male character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-28
Updated: 2015-09-18
Packaged: 2018-04-06 10:52:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4218990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justanexercise/pseuds/justanexercise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Team Machine cross paths with Root and the mysterious corporation connected to illegal human trafficking and experimentation called the Dollhouse. Just one snag, she isn't Root.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Found You

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to littlesolo & Plus1STR for listening to my headcanons about this fic.

 

Shaw balls up the foil from her finished burrito and drops it into the trashcan just inside the abandoned library. Licking at her teeth, she finds a few stray pieces of meat and sucks them from the gaps. She passes by the stacks of books and stops, leaning back down the aisle.

“Got any new numbers Harold?”

Finch doesn’t look up from his book organizing. “Not today Miss Shaw.” He nudges a space between the books on the shelf and slides another one in. “But Miss Morgan did request you and Mister Reese for a job tonight.”

“Alright,” Shaw says, moving to give space while Finch brushes past her to the control room. “Here,” Shaw places a book on the desk. “Seems like you need some new books Harold.”

“New –“ Finch gapes at the cover. He touches it delicately. “Is this...where did you find this Miss Shaw?”

Shaw shrugs. “Found it in a crate.”

Glancing at Shaw, Finch nods. “You just happened to find a personal edition of _The Tale of Peter Rabbit_ in a crate?”

“People just don’t know what they have.”

“Yes, of course.” Finch covers the precious book and pulls it closer to him when Bear trots in.

Shaw scratches behind Bear’s ear. “What does Zoe want?”

Finch whips his head back to his computer screens. “Miss Morgan is attending an event with Mister Andrew Fuller and has asked you and Mister Reese to accompany her tonight.” He hobbles over to the drawer and hands Shaw a box. “Miss Morgan has already taken the liberty of preparing your wardrobe.”

Shaw raises an eyebrow.

“She was fairly confident you wouldn’t say no,” Finch says.

“She dress John up too?”

“I’m sure Miss Morgan has made arrangements.”

“You’re not going to this thing?” Shaw takes a peek into the box and nods approvingly.

“I’m afraid someone has to stay behind and coordinate,” Finch says, a smile tugging at his lips. “Please do enjoy your evening.”

Lingering by the drawer, Shaw kicks at the ground.

“Is there something else you needed Miss Shaw?” Finch asks, spinning his seat to face her.

“No relevant numbers?”

“I believe that is being taken care of by the government.”

“And non-relevant one?”

“We haven’t had any.” Finch narrows his eyes at her. “If you’re feeling a bit bored-“

“Not irrelevant numbers,” Shaw interrupts. She looks above Finch’s head, never quite meeting his eyes. “The ones Root gets.”

She misses the small tick in Finch’s cheek. He turns back to his computer. “I’m afraid I haven’t heard from Miss Groves.”

“Right,” Shaw says, pushing off the wall. “Come on Bear.” She grabs Bear’s leash and ushers him out with her.

“Have a lovely evening Miss Shaw.”

Finch stares blankly at his monitors, waiting for a full five minutes before he dares look at the entrance to the control room. He checks the cameras placed all around the area and spots Shaw just leaving his monitored field. Finch hobbles back to the library stacks, sliding the back panel off the wall.

His cellphone rings.

Breathing in deep, Finch answers.

ROMḖØ

ØSCἌR

ØSCἌR  

ŢᾹNGØ

“I know,” Finch sighs. He hangs up and tilts his head to the wall. He follows the push pinned red thread all across the board, credit card receipts, blurry street camera photos and pinches the bridge of his nose.

The picture of a smiling Root at the center taunting him.

-

“We’re John’s arm candy?” Shaw asks, stepping out of the limo, refusing Reese’s offered arm.

Zoe steps out next, taking Reese’s arm. “No, you two are mine.”

Reese shrugs his shoulder in agreement and smiles.

Blinking, Shaw nods and links her arm on the other side of Zoe. “Yea that makes more sense.”

Flashing the invitation on her phone, Zoe leads them into the lavish mansion and smiles at the jealous looks her way.

Shaw points her chin back to the entrance, at the hidden metal detectors embedded into the wall. “That why you told us not to carry?”

“Good observation Shaw,” Zoe praises, accepting a flute of champagne as the others do the same. “Andrew Fuller has his own security detail roaming around at all times, he doesn’t like it when his guests bring their own guard dogs.”

“So what are we here for then Zoe?” Reese asks, sipping at the champagne.

Zoe eyes him. “Well I’m not stupid John.”

“Never thought you were Zoe.”

“Rumor is,” Zoe says leaning in to them both. “Fuller’s making a play tonight with this party as a sham. He’s selling out his engineering schematics.”

“And you’re here to make sure that does or doesn’t happen?” Shaw asks.

“Client confidentiality Shaw,” Zoe answers. She relents under both their scrutinizing stares. “Okay, I’m here to make sure no one gets hurt.”

“No, that’s why we’re here,” Shaw points out.

“ _Miss Shaw, Mister Reese_ ,” Finch says, buzzing in their ear pieces. “ _We would have gotten a warning from the Machine if it were dangerous. This appears to be normal corporate backdoor dealings_.”

“Harold doesn’t think it’s a problem,” Zoe says.

Shaw and Reese both stare at her. Reese tilts his head. “And how did you know that Zoe?”

“Body language,” she points out. “You both relaxed, I’m guessing Harold’s talking to you both.”

“You both mingle with the one percent,” Shaw says. “I’m gonna check out the area.”

Reese cocks an eyebrow. “Don’t shoot anyone Shaw.”

“How can I, I’m not armed remember?” Shaw asks, walking away with a smirk. She grabs a few pieces of finger food on the way. Her eyes roll at the taste of bacon wrapped steak. She swipes a few more off the tray, her gaze straying to the opening doors of the kitchen. Shaw shakes her head and continues up the stairs, walking as if she has every right to be there.

Ducking behind pillars, Shaw avoids the pairs of guards patrolling and the camera at the corner. She pulls out a compact mirror from her purse, seeing the reflection down the hall. The camera. Shaw narrows her eyes. The red light is off.

“Harold,” Shaw says. “Can you access the camera where I am?”

_“Yes, I am, is there a problem?”_

Shaw steps out. “Can you see me?”

_“No. Proceed with caution. It appears to be looping, for the next two minutes.”_

“Where does this hallway lead?”

“ _According to the map, it’s a four guest bedrooms.”_

Shaw counts the doors. “Then why are there five doors?”

“ _Shaw_ ,” Reese interrupts. _“Fuller’s on the move, towards you. You have five minutes before he gets to you.”_

“I’m going in. Which room isn’t supposed to be here? I’ve got two doors on my left and three on the right.”

“ _Third one to your right,”_ Finch answers. “ _Miss Shaw, you don’t have a weapon.”_

“Harold…” Shaw rolls her eyes. She puts her hand on the doorknob and tests it, it turns. “I am the weapon.”

Reese sighs on the line while Shaw sneaks into the room. Dim lights in an otherwise posh office filled with antique furniture, and of course an open safe. Shaw takes the fire poker next to her and continues to scan the room. She edges to the open window and peeks outside, no line or ledge. The air behind her shifts, Shaw ducks at the kick aimed at her head and swings with the fire poker in her hand, missing the target but at least they back away.

Shaw takes a second to evaluate her opponent. Tall. Lanky. Female. Face obscured in the shadows and an expensive silk dress ripped at the legs. Probably from that kick. The thief kicks out, catching a vase and directing it straight at Shaw who rolls away, the fire poker dropping. Shaw lunges and gets in a few punches to the thief’s kidney before she’s thrown off.

Once again wrassling on the ground, Shaw covers her torso while the thief rains down punches all cross her. Shaw growls, flipping the thief over and aims her fist at the thief’s face. She freezes half way to punching her out.

“Root?”

“ _What_?” Finch’s shaky voice asks in her ear.

Using her distraction, Root grabs a glass from the ground and smashes it against Shaw’s temple. She goes down hard.

“Now look at what you’ve done,” Root tsks. She takes Shaw’s discarded fire poker and aims it straight at her head. “I was going to let you live, but you saw my face. Sorry honey, but you’ve got to go.”

“Ow!” Root hisses, the fire poker clattering next to Shaw’s head. She glares at Reese who just threw a valuable vase against her hand.

“Root?” Reese inhales.

Root tilts her head, smiling, no recognition in her eyes. “You’re not security.”

Shaw kicks Root’s legs out from under her but Root flips out of the fall. Reese goes in to grab Root only to get a heel to the gut and an elbow to his neck.

Root’s cellphone beeps in her pocket and she walks backwards, away from Reese and Shaw. “It’s your lucky day kids, can’t kill you now, but you might want to leave before security gets here. Be seeing you.” Root sits on the window and falls backwards.

“Root!” Shaw yells, scrambling over to the window.

No one in sight.

“We have to go,” Reese says, pulling on her arm. “Zoe can only stall Fuller for another minute.”

“Fine,” Shaw grits out. “But what the hell was that?”

-

“Detective Fusco tried to get the footage from the camera across the street but it’s been erased,” Finch says in the library control room. “Are you certain it was Miss Groves?”

“Yes,” Shaw says through gritted teeth.

“It was Root,” Reese agrees. “At least she looked like Root. Her hand-to-hand combat was never this good though.” He rubs the welt at the back of his neck.

“What’s the Machine got to say?” Shaw asks, pointing to the monitor. “What’s she got Root doing that involves stealing some engineering shit?”

Finch nervously taps his fingers across the table. “I don’t believe it’s the Machine.”

“Of course it’s the Machine,” Shaw says.

“Is there something we need to know Finch?” Reese steps forward.

Mouth gaping, Finch closes his eyes and inhales deeply. “The Machine lost contact with Miss Groves.”

Shaw gives Finch a look. “Lost contact? What the hell does that even mean? They’re glued to the hip, or…ear whatever.”

Finch turns away from her.

Narrowing her eyes, Shaw walks around until she stares at Finch face to face. “What aren’t you telling us?”

“The Machine has been giving me Root’s name for the past three months.”

Shaw stumbles back. “Three months? Root’s been in trouble for three months and you didn’t bother to tell us?”

“Shaw,” Reese says, voice low in warning.

Undeterred, Shaw stalks forward. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Finch avoids her gaze.

Understanding dawns on Shaw’s face before it morphs into rage. “Even after an AI apocalypse you still don’t trust her?”

Finch pushes away from his desk and limps past them. “It is precisely the war with Samaritan that has me worried. I trust Miss Groves with our lives, but it is what Root will do in the name of keeping us safe that makes me afraid.” He slides the wall open. “I had to make sure if she was the victim or the perpetrator.”

Shaw’s hands form into fists. She stuffs them in her sweater and analyzes the information on the board. “And? Conclusion?”

“I’m not sure yet.” Finch gestures helplessly at the board. “The Machine can’t locate Miss Groves.”

“She was at the event last night,” Reese says. “Review the surveillance tapes, she was a guest.”

“I already have.” Finch goes back to the control room. He pulls up the video files and fast forwards to Root’s entrance. “The Machine couldn’t pick her out.”

“She’s right there,” Shaw points.

“This is the first time we’ve seen Miss Groves, but yet the Machine couldn’t locate her.”

Reese folds his arms over his chest. “Like when we blinded Samaritan? Could Root have done that?”

“Why would she though?” Shaw asks. “It doesn’t make any sense. What was the last mission She made her do?”

“I don’t know,” Finch says.

“But She knows, She knows the last time Root’s been on her radar.”

Finch nods slowly. “Yes, but the Machine hasn’t –“

Shaw whirls around and glares at his monitors. “You know.”

“Shaw.” Reese says behind her. “There aren’t any cameras on those monitors.”

Rolling her eyes, Shaw tugs out her phone from her pocket. “You know,” she says again. “Exactly where Root was and what the fuck she’d been up to on your orders.”

“Miss Shaw, I didn’t design –“

“I don’t care,” Shaw hisses. “Re-write your protocols or whatever the shit you need to do and help us find your precious analogue interface before I melt your servers into a puddle.”

A few seconds of intense staring at the camera and Shaw’s phone rings. She sets it on speaker.

BLǍÇK. KILØ. ŢᾹNGØ.

PỂNGUIN. ÅLPHA. KILØ.

ZȮȮ. DELTǍ. GØLF.

“Robin Farrow,” Finch mumbles. He quickly goes through his computer and pulls up his files.

“The identity you put her in the institution?” Shaw asks.

“Yes,” Finch answers, going through the data. “Robin Farrow’s been diagnosed as a paranoid schizophrenic at the Gateway Mental Health Facility in Los Angeles. According to their records, Miss Groves has been a patient there for two years. Three months ago she’d been released under the care of a Doctor Christopher Brink.”

“Three months ago,” Reese says, head tilting.

Shaw taps her arm. “We should have a little chat with Doctor Brink then.”

Reese nods. “Are we making a trip to LA?”

“I’m locating Doctor Brink, at the moment his digital trail ceases after he left the facility. I have all of her records here, but if Miss Groves is back in New York…”

“Hey,” Shaw glares at her phone camera again. “That footage from last night, you have a copy don’t you?”

A few seconds later, Finch’s computer pops up with another video. The blurry street camera view of a black van and Root climbing in.

“I’ll have Fusco run the plates,” Reese says. “See where it is now.”

“Or we can skip that. She can track it, can’t She?”

Her phone chirps, an address. Shaw smirks. “Let’s go get Root back.”

-

“And who’s this one Harold?” Shaw asks, sending him another picture of a license plate off the tinted town car. She cracks her neck, putting her DSLR camera back to her eye and snapping another picture at the black van leaving. “Incoming.”

“Yes, all of them are still registered to the DeWitt Accounting Firm.”

“Obviously a front,” Shaw mumbles. She zooms into the windows at the top floor, tinted. “Can’t get a shot of anything in the office.”

“Have you had any luck Mister Reese?” Finch asks.

Shaw points her camera to the street, following Reese’s movements as he hustles right in front of the car, taking his sweet time crossing while he bluejacks a phone in the car. “Got it Finch.”

“The phone belongs to Brian Zimmer, comes from old money in the steel and oil industry. I’ve lost the signal, but I have managed to find a mention of a meeting with a DH on his calendar.”

“Pretty elaborate set up for an accounting firm don’t you think?” Shaw ponders out loud. “Using company cars to escort their clients, building insulated from any wireless signals and closed security systems.”

“Any leads on the other cars?” Reese asks, casually walking across the street to peruse the excellent selection of fake Coach and Gucci purses.

“So far the Machine hasn’t alerted us to Miss Grove’s presence.”

“Machine’s a bit faulty on that front,” Reese says.

“Yes Mister Reese, which is why I’ve been manually going through the cameras, so far there had been three individuals who do not appear to be highly trained operatives or part of the economies one percent. I’ve ascertained their identities, Caroline Farrell, Priya Tsetsang and Anthony Ceccoli.”

Shaw switches from her camera to her rifle, aiming the crosshairs at the tinted office windows.

“None of them have appeared on any missing person’s list. Miss Farrell has been off the map for two years, Miss Tsetsang for three and Mister Ceccoli for almost four. So far there is no connection between them.”

Reese walks away from the building, turning to a blind spot. He changes his beanie to a hat and flips around his coat to the tan side.

“Incoming Reese, got another tinted town car,” Shaw advises.

“Got it.” Reese jaywalks across the street, narrowly getting hit by the town car and waves his hand at the driver, bluejacking another phone in the meantime. “So they recruit people no one will miss.”

“It appears that way Mister Reese, though for what I do not know.”

“Maybe government,” Shaw says.

“Miss Shaw, Mister Reese,” Finch says, voice harried. “I’ve found Miss Groves.”

Shaw disassembles her rifle with ease. “Where?”

“I’m sending you the coordinates, please do not do anything rash Miss Shaw.”

Shaw mutes her earpiece and races down the fire escape and jumps into the car. She slams on the brakes, narrowly missing Reese’s kneecaps in her haste. Leaning out of the window, Shaw yells, “You getting in or what?”

Blinking, Reese slips into the passenger side and grabs the handrail in time for Shaw to whip out of the alley at full speed.

“I have eyes on Miss Groves, she’s eating dinner outside the patio with Mister Cody Ashmore. Freelance software engineer. Three days ago he transferred out $500,000 from his accounts, the money then splits between numerous banks, I can’t trace it.”

Slowing down, Shaw parallel parks down the street from the restaurant.  Spotting Root, Shaw takes a step towards the restaurant and only stops when Reese pulls on her bicep. She flings her arm away from him and clenches her jaw. Reese shakes his head.

“Miss Shaw,” Finch buzzes in her ear. “Please, we have to understand the situation before taking action, this is our only lead.”

“Fine,” Shaw hisses.

“Finch,” Reese says, crossing the street. “The black van is a block away and I spot someone with company training. Female, early 30s, grey suit, Hispanic or Pacific Islander. She’s eating a taco across the street from them.”

Shaw kicks at the ground. “What’s Root doing that got her a CIA watchdog?”

“I see her,” Finch replies.

Shaw rolls her eyes. “Sloppy.”

“Or bored,” Reese says. He walks by the patio area, bluejacking Ashmore’s phone. “Got ears on them.”

 _“So you’re telling me you don’t think she’s pretty?”_ Root says, voice high and flirtatious. _“Because I totally do.”_

Ashmore chuckles. _“I just think you’re prettier.”_

_“You’re only saying that.”_

Hands curling into fists, Shaw buys ice cream from a passing street cart and bites off half. “Are they on a date?” Shaw asks, voice distorted by the ice cream.

“Seems that way,” answers Reese.

 _“So, what’s after this?”_ Root asks.

_“Who says there’s anything after?”_

_“Intuition.”_

_“Booked us the grand suite at The Peninsula.”_

Root gasps. _“Honey, we don’t have that kind of money.”_

_“It’s our anniversary, I just want to make it special.”_

_“But-“_

_“Don’t worry, I got a lot of it comped from work. Just, let’s just enjoy it okay?”_

_“If this goes on our credit card bill, I swear to God Cody.”_

Shaw tunes out of their conversation and directs to Finch. “Get the room next to theirs.”

“Already on it Miss Shaw.”

“They’re leaving,” Reese says, walking over to their car. “So are the guard dogs.”

“Does this all seem…weird to you?” Shaw asks at the intersection. She eyes the black van four cars ahead of them and Ashmore’s car six away. “Can’t tell who’s conning who.”

“Has to be Root.”

“A honeymoon suite anniversary after a couple months of dating?”

Reese quirks an eyebrow.

“Okay fine.” Shaw steps on the gas. “She may be able to pull it off, but this just reeks.”

“I have to agree with Miss Shaw, I’ll meet you at the hotel lobby.” Finch pauses. “Miss Shaw –“

“Nothing rash, I know Harold.”

“Thank you.”

-

Finch sets up his laptop for surveillance while Shaw rechecks her gun. He glances towards the arsenal of weapons laid out behind her and focuses back onto his computer.

“We have video,” he says. “But only in the living room, bed room and bath.”

“Better than nothing.”

“Are you okay Mister Reese?”

Reese flips the collar of his coat up, holding his cup of coffee to warm his freezing fingers. “All okay here Finch.”

“What are they doing?” Shaw taps her fingernail on the screen.

“Drinking champagne.”

“Finch, I can’t bluejack any of their phones,” says Reese. “Could their van be shielding something?”

“Hold your phone out and pass by them again.” Finch hijacks Reese’s phone, checking the signals through it and frowns. “They can broadcast and receive signals, it’s just their phones we can’t bluejack.”

“Not as sloppy as I thought,” Shaw says. She narrows her eyes at the screen. “What are you doing Root…”

Finch looks over and grimaces. Ashmore and Root kissing on the couch. “Miss Shaw…” Finch says, eyeing her tightening grip on her gun.

“What?” Shaw grits out, staring straight at him.

“Nevermind.” Finch turns back to the monitor and flinches. They’ve upgraded from kissing to full on passionate making out, Root straddling Ashmore, his hands all over her. “Mister Reese, we have ears in the van now, I’ve just replicated their signal to our equipment and turned on their microphone.”

Finch switches one laptop to the video feeds provided from the van surveillance. “They don’t have visual or audio in the suite, just the hotel surveillance system.”

“Guess it’s not blackmail material they’re after,” Reese says. “They’re awfully quiet in there.”

“Perhaps they’re just there in case something happens,” Finch says.

Shaw crosses her arms. “Or they’re waiting to bust in.” She glares at the laptop, watching as Root and Ashmore move their dalliance to the bedroom, shedding clothes along the way. Shaw bites her lip, strong enough to leave an indent.

“Miss Shaw?” Finch asks, watching Shaw strap in her guns, one to her ankle and two in the waistband of her jeans plus extra magazines in her pocket. “Are you-“

“You have until I’m finished packing to distract the guard downstairs and reroute the camera feeds,” Shaw says.

Finch gapes. “But –“

“Three minutes Harold.” She cocks one of her pistols.

He spins back to his laptop, fingers flying across the keyboard. “Mister Reese, prepare for a distraction for the operatives down stairs. Preferably a big one.”

“On it.”

Shaw takes another look at the monitor and tucks a taser in her coat pocket. “Times up.”

“Just give me a second,” Finch hisses.

She pauses at the door.

“Okay, done.” Finch signals for her to go.

Shaw points her gun at the lock on the door and fires. She puts away her gun at the entrance of the bedroom, digging her nails into her palm. They haven’t noticed gunfire or her. Shaw takes a towel from the table and rolls it up before wrapping it around Ashmore’s neck, dragging him off Root and choking him unconscious.

“What the hell?” Root shrieks. “What are you doing? Stop it!”

Shaw waits just a moment, sure that he’s passed out before setting her eyes on Root. She’s naked and desperately grappling for a sheet to cover it up. Shaw rolls her eyes and tosses a robe hanging from the door to her. “Put that on and get dressed.”

“What? Why are you…who are you?”

“Cut the act Root, let’s go, you can explain what the fuck you’ve been doing.”

“I don’t know what you want from me, please just…whatever you want just take it. Please just don’t hurt us.” Root looks to Ashmore, her lips trembling. “Is he…did you…?”

Shaw drags Ashmore to the huge walk-in closet, jamming a bench in front of it.

“He’s alive, just unconscious.”

“Why are you –“

“Oh for God’s sakes.” Shaw gathers Root’s clothes and tosses them at her face. “Get dressed.”

Root dresses shakily, never taking her eyes off Shaw, her hands going to the phone behind her.

“I wouldn’t do that,” Shaw says, pointing her gun at Root. “Seriously what is up with you? There’s no surveillance in here.”

“Why would there be surveillance?” Root holds her hands up in the air. “I think you have the wrong person, we’re not anyone, I swear. Cody got this suite for our anniversary; we don’t do this, go to expensive hotels. Please just …please.”

“Miss Shaw,” Finch chirps in her ear. “Maybe –“

“Not now Harold,” Shaw says. “Go.” She gestures to the open door.

A whine escapes Root’s throat at the front door. She turns back to Shaw, eyes flicking from the gun pointed at her to the splintered wood of the door.

Shaw gestures with her gun again.

Root sucks in a breath, hands shaking as she opens the door. Stepping out into the hall, Root walks slowly to the elevator, Shaw tailing behind her. The door next to Root swings open, she immediately calls out. “Help! She’s got a –“

Root seizes up, a taser jammed into her neck; she lasts five seconds before dropping to the carpeted hallway.

Finch blinks, looking past Root to Shaw stashing away the taser in her pocket.

“Was that really necessary?”

“She did it to me. Twice.” Shaw flicks open a syringe, jabbing it into Root’s neck. Next, she hoists Root up to her shoulder, readjusting her hands over Root’s thighs, compensating for Root’s height

Shaking his head, Finch hobbles down the hallway, glancing over his shoulder every few seconds. His lips thin to a line. “We have five minutes to exit.” Finch unmutes his earpiece. “Mister Reese, I hope you have that distraction ready.”

“Ready when you are.”

Finch checks his phone for the video feed. Empty elevator. “Meet us at the basement garage in two minutes.”

“Us?”

Shaw shares a look with Finch, the corners of her mouth ticking up just a fraction.

“We got Root,” Shaw says.

 

 


	2. Identity Crisis

 

Shaw tightens the last zip tie on Root’s leg, securing all four limbs to the heavy oak chair.

“Isn’t that a bit excessive?” Finch asks.

“For Root?”

“Point taken.” Finch steps closer to Root, eyes scanning her with concern. He notes her drooped form.

“How much did you give her?” Reese asks.

Checking her watch, Shaw answers, “Just enough, should be waking up soon.”

“We don’t have much time,” Finch says. He glances at his laptop screen. “I can only re-route her GPS coordinates for so long until the agents catch on to the wild goose chase.”

“Give or take one hour,” Reese says. “They didn’t seem too well-trained.”

“Can’t we just cut it out of her?” Shaw asks.

Finch raises an eyebrow. “I’d rather not have any unnecessary surgery until we know the situation.”

On cue, Root’s head snaps up, jostling the seat as she sucks in a breath. Her arms jerk against her restraints. “What…?” Root blinks, squinting at each of them. She looks to her hands and legs, zip tied. “What’s going on?”

“You tell us,” Shaw says, sliding a chair in front of her and sitting down.

“I don’t know what you want from me,” Root says, teary-eyed. “Please.”

“Drop the act.”

“I don’t know—“

“Please Miss Groves,” Finch interrupts.

Root blinks, head tilting to the side. “That’s not my name. You kidnapped the wrong person.”

“That’s new,” Shaw snorts. “Okay, I’ll play. What’s your name?”

Licking her lips, Root shakes her head. “Ann. Ann Watts.”

Finch’s eyebrows furrow. He steps away from their interrogation, bringing his laptop to a table.

“So, Ann,” Shaw says, leaning forward. “What’s your relationship with Ashmore?”

“Cody,” Root mumbles. “Did you take him too? Where is he? Is he okay?”

Reese leans against the wall, studying her. “He’s fine, might have a bit of headache but he’s at the hotel, unharmed.”

Exhaling in relief, Root nods slowly. “What do you want with me?”

“I don’t know what you’re playing at Root,” Shaw says, head shaking. “But you’re pissing me off with this kidnapped victim act.”

“Act? I don’t know who you are or what you want from me, all I know is that you,” Root spits out, “choked my boyfriend and kidnapped me for only God knows why.”

“Root –“

“Why do you keep saying that?”

Shaw clenches her jaw. She takes three calming breaths. It doesn’t work. She stomps over to Root and yanks her hair back, pulling loose a few strands, ignoring the pained groan. “Your name is Root or Samantha Groves, except you hate it when people call you that. I don’t know what mission you think you’re on right now, but we haven’t heard from you for more than three months and this little mistaken identity act is making me want to shoot you. Again.”

“Again? You think you shot me before?” Root asks.

“And I’m going to do it again if you keep this up.”

“Where?”

Shaw levels a stare at her. “Really?”

“Where?”

Shaking her head, Shaw pokes at Root’s left shoulder. “There.”

“Did it scar?” Root asks, shifting her shoulder uncomfortably.

“Yes…”

Root smiles tightly. “I don’t have a scar there.”

Pulling back her shirt, Shaw freezes. Flawless skin. No hint of scar tissue.

“Look, there’s been some sort of mistaken identity here. I promise, if you let me go I won’t tell anyone about this. I swear.”

Shaw tugs Root’s shirt to the other side, revealing the top of her chest. Again, no scar. “Okay, your healing factor seems to be higher than normal.” She turns Root’s head to the side. “But there’s one thing you forgot, can’t exactly hide an implant now can you?” Shaw brushes Root’s hair back from her ear and traces a finger down. She narrows her eyes.

“Shaw?” Reese steps close, inspecting Root’s ear. “Nothing.”

Undeterred, Shaw presses against her skull, feeling for the cochlear implant. Missing. Shaw frowns. She leans into Root’s ear and screams.

“What the hell?” Root hisses, jerking away from her.

“You heard that?”

“I think everyone heard you, Jesus Christ.”

Shaw shares a look with Reese. He points his chin towards Finch. Leaving Root alone for now, they go far enough to have privacy but close enough to still catch Root.

“What are you thinking Shaw?”

“That’s Root, that’s gotta be Root,” Shaw insists. She unfurls her fist, depositing the strands of Root’s hair in a bag. “That enough?”

“It will have to do,” Finch says. He places the plastic bag in a courier envelope.

“Scars like ours don’t just disappear,” Reese says.

Finch nods in agreement. “And neither would she miraculously recover her hearing from the stapedectomy.”

“Long lost twin then,” Shaw says. “Does Root have a twin?”

“None that we know of.”

“Okay then clones. Cause if that isn’t Root then she’s got a very convincing doppelganger.”

“She definitely looks like Root,” Reese says. “But she doesn’t act like Root.”

“Root’s a con artist, she fooled both of you into thinking she was a shrink.” Shaw pinches the bridge of her nose.

“And you thought she was CIA,” Reese bites back.

“Exactly.”

“If she is Miss Groves –“ Finch begins.

“She is,” Shaw says.

“—then there must be a reason why she doesn’t recognize us, or herself.” Finch brushes past them, laptop in hand. “And I intend to find out.”

Root stares as he approaches, hands wringing in her bonds.

“Miss Watts, I apologize for my colleagues. We’ve just lost a dear friend and you look remarkable like her.”

“I kinda got that,” Root says, glancing at Shaw.

“Miss Shaw, please release her.”

“Seriously?”

Finch nods.

Shaw makes no move to free her, instead Reese pulls out his switchblade.

Root shrinks in her seat, muscles tight until Reese cuts her loose. Rubbing her wrists, Root fidgets in her seat. “So, you’re letting me go?”

“In a moment, I just have a few questions,” Finch says.

“Of course you do.”

“Where were you born?”

“What does that have to—“

“Our friend was born in Texas.”

Root breathes in, closing her eyes. “Seattle. Birthday is April 3rd, 1980.”

“You went to Franklin High School, correct?”

“No, I went to Rainier Beach.”

“Where you met Cody Ashmore, your high school sweetheart.”

“Is this about Cody?”

Finch stares.

Root caves, looking to her hands. “No, Cody and I met in elementary school. We didn’t date until –“

“University,” Finch finishes for her.

“If you know all this then –“

“After such a long friendship, how did you feel when Mister Ashmore finally asked you?”

“What is this?”

“Please Miss Watts.”

Leg jiggling, Root crosses her arms over her chest, eyes darting back and forth between her three captors. She sways in her seat, eyes shut. “Relief. Cody and I were friends, are friends. We’d been stepping around a relationship for half our lives. Didn’t want to ruin what we had. But that question of what we could have, it always went through my mind, with every boyfriend I had and every girlfriend he had. It took us awhile to get here but I don’t regret second of it.”

“Do you love him?”

Glaring, Root’s hands ball into fists. “I don’t know what you’re –“

“Do you love him?” he repeats.

“Yes. I do.”

Finch nods sharply. “I believe Mister Ashmore loved you very deeply Miss Watts.”

“Loved?”

“So much that he’s been having a difficult time letting you go.”

“What are you—“

“I’m sorry,” Finch flips his laptop around for her. “But Miss Watts died two years ago.”

Root reads the headline and seethes. “What kind of sick joke are you playing at?”

Finch scrolls through the information, showing her segments of Miss Watts’s life and the obituary with Ann Watts’s picture, a slight resemblance to Root. “Everything you know of Miss Watts is true but the fact remains that you are not who you think you are.”

Root’s hand trembles, using the laptop herself. She squeezes her eyes shut. “You manipulated the information, created articles.”

“A week before Mister Ashmore and Miss Watts’s anniversary, he encountered a breakthrough in his technology, sold it off to the highest bidder. He was going to ask her to marry him, on their anniversary.” Finch passes her the article about the sale and an online receipt for a jewelry store. “I have no doubt that Mister Ashmore loved her very deeply, so much that he’s been having trouble moving on with his life.”

Sniffling, Root’s head shakes, denying his statements.

“I believe Mister Ashmore sought closure.”

Shaw snorts behind them. “Yea and a good fuck.”

Shooting Shaw a look of disapproval, Finch continues. “Three days ago he paid a company half a million dollars.” He goes through the pictures from today. “This black van delivered you to the restaurant and operatives have been keeping a close eye on you and Mister Ashmore.” Finch points out the woman in the grey suit.

“All of this,” Root gestures around her. She shoves the laptop to the ground. “It’s not working. I know who I am and no amount of lies will change that.”

“Please Miss Groves –“

“My name is Ann Watts.”

“Finch,” Reese says. He tilts his head to the back and taps Shaw on the shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” Finch apologizes to her again.

Reese glances over to Root who’s holding herself, rocking back and forth in her chair. “She’s not lying.”

“Everything you said is true?” Shaw asks.

“I’m afraid so, Miss Groves believes herself to be a dead woman.”

“So someone brainwashed her right?”

“Perhaps, but to what end?”

Shaw looks over their shoulders to Root hovering by a drawer. “Root?” Shaw says, stalking towards her.

Root opens the drawer in the middle, hand instinctively grabbing a hidden gun there. It’s too late, Shaw slams Root’s head down onto the drawer, knocking her unconscious.

Taking away the gun, Shaw clicks her tongue. “She knew exactly where it was.”

“We have another problem,” Finch says over his chirping laptop. “The operatives have found the spoofed GPS coordinates, they’re trying to hack back.”

“What do we do Finch?” Reese asks, nudging Root with the tip of his shoe.

Finch calls 911. “There’s a woman unconscious here, alley on 9th, I think she’s bleeding.”

-

“How is Miss Groves?” Finch asks through Shaw’s earpiece.

“Still unconscious.” Shaw nods politely to a passing nurse.

Shaw closes the door behind her, walking the opposite direction of the woman in the grey suit. She heads to the backroom, pulling out her phone to access the camera feed she just planted inside Root’s room.

“ _Miss Watts?”_ the woman asks, touching Root on the air.

“ _Yea?”_ Root answers, shifting on the bed. _“Who are you?”_

_“I’m Special Agent Alvarez, FBI.”_

“That legit Harold?” Shaw asks.

“Apparently so Miss Shaw, but she’s not part of the bureau anymore.”

“So ex-FBI turned corporate?” Shaw turns her attention back to the video.

 _“Yes, I have a few questions about your kidnapping,”_ says Alvarez.

Root sits up on the bed. _“Is Cody okay?”_

_“Mister Ashmore is fine.”_

Nodding her head, Root relaxes back on the bed. “ _Is there something wrong?”_

_“Why would you ask that Miss Watts?”_

_“FBI is questioning me, not the local police.”_

_“We believe your kidnapping maybe linked to an ongoing case. Could you tell me how the kidnappers looked?”_

Root shakes her head no. _“They were wearing masks, I never got to see their faces.”_

_“Faces? So there were multiple. Could you tell me anything about them? Height, build, gender?”_

Shaw frowns at the screen. “She’s lying for us.”

“Yes, the question is why,” says Finch.

“ _I can’t remember_ ,” Root answers. _“It all happened so fast. I remember one of them choking Cody and then grabbing me. Small, he was short. He had an accent, maybe?”_

_“Do you know what they wanted?”_

_“Cody. They were asking me about his job, but I don’t know any of it,”_ Root says. _“I don’t know what’s going on, I need to see Cody_.” Root pushes off the blankets, swinging her legs over the bed _. “Please just –“_

_“Miss Watts, please lie down, we can –“_

_“No!”_ Root screams, shoving Alvarez in the chest. “ _I need to see him.”_

 _“Whiskey, would you like a treatment?”_ Alvarez says, hands up in a placating fashion.

Root’s eyes squeezes shut, her hands covering her ears. She whips her head back and forth. _“No, no no no.”_

Shaw squints, studying the grainy image. She curses under her breath, running out to Root’s room. “She’s reaching for her gun.”

“Wait, Miss Shaw!”

“She’s gonna shoot her.”

“Stop!” Finch screams in her ear. “She didn’t shoot her.”

Shaw slows down, hand still reaching for her gun. She hovers in the hallway.

“Listen,” Finch says.

“ _Did I fall asleep?”_ Root asks, voice soft.

 _“For a little while_ ,” Alvarez responds.

_“Shall I go now?”_

_“In a moment, put these clothes on.”_

Shaw scrunches her face. “What the hell is going on?”

“I have no idea.”

“Why is she…what did she do?”

Their attention goes back to Root and Alvarez.

“ _Did I do my best?”_ Root asks.

“ _Yes you did.”_ Alvarez opens the door for her, leaving a path for Root to follow. “ _Follow me Whiskey.”_

Shaw stares down the hall, Root’s gait dramatically different. Her feet are light, gliding down the hall. And that smile, so serene, so innocent. Shaw clenches her jaw. “I’m getting her back.”

“We can’t afford that, not when Miss Groves is in this state. She threw them off our trail onto Mister Ashmore’s, we can’t let her efforts go to waste.”

“But-“

“Mister Reese will follow them from the car, please Miss Shaw.”

Curling her hands into a fist, Shaw stares as they round the corner leaving her sight.

-

Shaw tucks her hair back under the hard hat and adjusts the dark blue utility jumpsuit. Peeking out the van window, Shaw sighs once more. “Got the feeds yet Harold?”

“Looping them now, you have two minutes,” Finch says.

Leaping out of the van with an induction coil connected to the generator in the car, Shaw kneels on the ground, sweeping back and forth across the metal grates. She pauses once steam starts billowing out. “That cooked enough?”

“Yes, it’s done.”

She drops the coil into a metal can in the van and tosses her hard hat in the passenger seat. “John get anything useful?”

“Mister Zimmer was cooperative.”

Shaw’s lip quirks up. “He use the taser?”

Finch’s silence gives her the answer. He clears his throat. “We’ve found a way into their operations, with Mister Zimmer’s assistance, a referral.”

“What’s stopping him from blowing the whistle on us?”

“Oh that won’t be an issue, he will be otherwise detained for the foreseeing month or so. No one would believe a paranoid schizophrenic spouting off conspiracy theories about kidnapping and a deranged lunatic in a suit.”

“You threw him in the funny house?”

“I’m keeping Mister Zimmer isolated in a psychiatric facility, for his own safety of course. Excuse me Miss Shaw, I have a few things to prepare before the meeting.”

“Harold. You’re avoiding something.”

Finch sucks in a breath. “We have a plan, you might not be amenable to it.”

-

“How are you doing Miss Shaw?” Finch asks. He adjusts his utility uniform, squinting at the sun as he stares up at the building housing Root.

“You were right,” Shaw says, glaring at the bank of monitors in the back of the van. “This sucks.”

“Is Mister Reese on schedule?”

She glances the red dot on the map, traveling to her location. “Five minutes away.”

“Good.” He unclips his ID badge and shows it to the guard at the parking entrance. “I’m here to check on the communications lines.”

The muscular guard stares at his ID, studying Finch closely. “Driver’s license.”

Finch digs into his wallet and hands it over. The guard verifies his information before gesturing over another similar built guard.

“Show him to the telecom room.”

“How long is this going to take?” the guard escorting Finch asks.

“I haven’t accessed the damage yet, but hopefully in a few hours.”

“Don’t think any of this was damaged.”

Finch smiles wryly. “Well, a vast majority of the lines were disabled a few nights ago.”

The guard shrugs, propping the door open and returning to his post, leaving Finch alone.

He gets to work, taking out his laptop and opening the boxes to sort through the wires. Finding the right ones, Finch uses his micro clamp. “Miss Shaw, I’m sending you some data.”

“Got it. You sure you won’t get caught?”

“Fairly certain, I’m using a micro clamp on optical fibers cable, the information passes through as pulses of light. All I need is just one percent and it will contain –“

“Okay, I don’t need to know all that. Their systems won’t detect it or anything?”

“That’s what the micro clamp is for, just enough data to come through and they’ll never know. I’m sending you the video feeds now, we have to crack the encryption.”

Shaw cracks her knuckles. “I can do nerd.”

“No need, I’ve already sent you the decryption.”

She rolls her eyes. “How am I even getting this? Thought the building was shielded.”

“It is, no signals in or out, but the garage has an opening and I am at the prime spot to access the building feeds and broadcast data. Mister Reese won’t be able to communicate with us, but we will be able to see and hear inside the building.”

Running Finch’s decryption code, Shaw sits back in her chair. “Audio and video’s up. You put a rush order on his fancy $5000 suit?”

“No, that was from a previous mission,” Finch says. He takes another micro clamp to different wires.

“Reese worked on Wall Street?” Shaw scans the monitors looking for Root.

“ _Welcome to the Dollhouse Mister Rooney,”_ a woman with a British accent greets Reese. _“I’m Adele DeWitt.”_

Abandoning her search for a moment, Shaw enlarges the feed with Reese in it.

“ _Pleasure to meet you,”_ Reese says, shaking her hand.

“ _Would you like a drink?”_ DeWitt asks.

“ _Scotch, neat.”_

DeWitt hands him a tumbler. She sits across from him on the couch, a table between them.

“ _How is your security company faring Mister Rooney? OpSes Security was it?”_

Shaw tilts her head. “You bought a security company for John?”

“It was necessary.”

“One hell of a gift, what do I get?”

“Gun manufacturer.”

“Really?” Shaw asks, perking up.

“I was joking.”

Opening her mouth for a retort, she stops herself at DeWitt’s voice.

_“That’s not why you’re really here is it Mister Rooney?”_

Shaw grabs her grenade launcher.

Reese frowns. _“Oh? And why am I really here Miss DeWitt?”_

DeWitt folds her hands over her lap. She smiles knowingly with just a hint of empathy. _“We both know you’re not here to hire a girlfriend for yourself.”_

Shaw readies the rocket launcher. “She’s onto him,” she tells Finch. “I knew John couldn’t pull off the desperate for a girlfriend act.”

“Are you sure?” Finch asks.

Dewitt says, “ _No, you’re not here for yourself are you Mister Rooney? You’re here for someone else.”_

Shaw hesitates, leg ready to kick open the door.

Reese chuckles, rubbing his hand over his face. “ _Yea, you’re right. It’s not for me.”_

_“Mister Rooney, there’s no need for subterfuge. I can assure you, whatever your friend needs, we can help.”_

_“I…we, lost a friend. She was important to us.”_

Shaw bites her lip. “Harold, John’s going off script.”

“Is he safe? Is DeWitt suspicious?”

“He’s fine, for now.”

DeWitt nods, compassionate. _“I’m sorry for your loss. Death is never easy.”_

“ _No it isn’t, especially not for my friend_.” Reese scratches his eyebrow, glancing towards the hidden camera at the corner of the office. “ _There were things she never got to say.”_

“ _You seek closure for her.”_

_“Yes.”_

_“You’re a good man Mister Rooney, we will do our utmost to help your friend find the closure she needs.”_

Shaw curses under her breath. “Harold, we got a problem. He just invented a dead friend.”

“I haven’t prepared that cover.”

“Well do it fast.”

Finch sucks in a breath. “Miss Shaw, I can’t hack, create a completely new identity and play a repairman all at once. Only two.”

“I can’t nerd enough to create a new identity. Hurry, John’s giving out details now, he’s stalling though. Caroline Turing, that’s who he’s using.”

“I’m on my way.” Finch slams his laptop shut.

Shaw shakes her head, her eyes drifting to the feeds. She pauses. “Wait, Harold stop, I found Root.” She takes in Root’s form, running on a treadmill, hardly breaking a sweat. The feed cuts off. “Harold, I had her!”

“I’m sorry Miss Shaw,” Finch says after closing the van door. He gestures for her to vacate his seat. “But I have an identity to create.”

Gritting her teeth, Shaw moves to another seat, taking his abandoned laptop and going through the recorded video feeds on her own. She traces Root’s path, rewinding the footage. Except there’s not much to see, in the thirty minutes they have, Root’s been steadily running on a treadmill with electrodes attached.

“I’ve altered Caroline Turing’s profile to have an unfortunate car accident six months ago,” Finch says.

“That was one of her aliases wasn’t it? The shrink.” Shaw frowns at the new picture. “You changed her face?”

“Just enough for them to not recognize Miss Groves, but a close match that they would have to choose her.”

“Let’s hope that’s how they operate.”

Finch turns to her. “The Dollhouse operates on fantasy, if they don’t choose Miss Groves to be Caroline Turing, their business model is rather poor.”

Shaw throws him a skeptical look that turns into a deep frown.

“What’s wrong?”

“If John isn’t getting Root as his girlfriend, who’re we meeting her as?”

-

“I’m going to kill you,” Shaw hisses. She straightens out her dress and looks around Central Park; Shaw taps her heel nervously on the ground. “Why couldn’t we ask for a bodyguard for Harold?”

“I’d rather Miss Groves not have any combat skills,” Finch says.

“Incoming black van,” Reese says from his perch up on the roof. “It’s Root. Your four o’clock.”

Shaw keeps still, listening to the tell-tale clicks of Root’s heels along the cement.

Turning to her, Shaw takes a step back, eyes traveling up and down Root’s body. Leather jacket. Black jeans. Comfortable heeled boots. She definitely has Root’s wardrobe down to pat. Shaw rolls her eyes while Root smirks. Definitely Root.

“Hello Caroline,” Shaw says.

“Hey sweetie, did you miss me?”


	3. Parental Approved Date

 

“You’re being weird,” Root says, pointing her fork towards Shaw.

“I’m being weird?”

Root nods, chewing her food. “You haven’t touched your steak.”

Glancing down, Shaw confirms that yes, she hasn’t touched the juicy steak on her plate. Shaw growls, stabbing the steak and tearing a chunk off with her teeth. She chews with her mouth open, taunting Root.

Root smiles softly, pushing a bottle of Tabasco sauce to Shaw. “Don’t choke.”

“How’s the date Shaw?” Reese asks through her earpiece.

Shaw puts a hand to her side, flipping the middle finger to where he’s sure to be observing them.

“The surveillance system in the van currently only has their own cameras pointed at you. No audio,” Finch says. “Perhaps we could gather more information if you actually speak to her. We need to know how her mind is.”

Shaw swallows, finishing off her steak. “How long are you in town for?” she asks.

Root taps her fingers to her cheek. “You can have me for three days Sameen.”

“That coincides with the dates we asked for,” Finch says.

“Who says I want you for that long?” Shaw says with a smirk.

Root tilts her head to the side and draws circles with her fingertip on the table.

“What are you doing after?”

“I don’t know yet,” Root says, flipping her hair over her shoulder.

Fists clenching under the table, Shaw forces a smile. That sounded entirely too Root like. She drops a few twenties on the table and walks away, slowing down slightly for Root to catch up to her.

“No dessert?” Root asks, leaning into Shaw’s space.

“Miss Shaw,” Finch says. “The van is still following you, now would be a good time to take her to the safe house.”

Shaw grabs Root’s elbow, steering her to the new sports car Finch got her today, sleek black and most importantly fast. “I was thinking of something else,” she says to Root.

“Oh?” Root licks her lips. “And what might that be?”

“You’ll see.”

-

“New Jersey?” Root asks, stepping out of the car.

“Yup,” Shaw grits out. “Good old New Jersey.”

She tosses a duffel bag to Root and ducks back into the trunk, jabbing the talk button on her earpiece. “New Jersey? Really Finch? This is the new safe house?”

“I’m sorry Miss Shaw, it’s the closest place we could get to ensure that they won’t be able to spy on us. A black van in the street would be far too conspicuous.”

“I’d rather be at Gen’s school play than here.”

“But you’ve never gone to one.”

“Exactly.”

“The last one wasn’t so bad, she did wonderfully by the way.”

“Uh huh, what was it again?”

Finch sighs. “Annie.”

Shaw turns off her earpiece and glances down the street, very few cars. The black van with heavily tinted windows does stick out like a sore thumb at the far end of the block. She grabs her heavy duffel bag and joins Root at the door. Ignoring the new high tech camera at the entrance, Shaw types in the code to the door and grabs the door handle. Her body collides against the door instead of opening.

She jiggles the door knob. Locked.

“Key?” Root gestures to the vertical bolt.

“It should open electronically.” Shaw types in the code again, the green light goes on. She goes for the doorknob. Still locked.

“Need some help there Sameen?”

“No,” Shaw grunts, kicking at the door. “I got it.”

“I’m right here, when you need an extra hand.”

Turning her face away, Shaw hides the pleased smile at the innuendo laced phrase. She tries the code again, still nothing. Shaw growls, reaching into her coat pocket for her set of lock picks. She pauses, looking to their driveway where a motorcycle just rolled onto.

“John,” Root says once he takes off his helmet.

“Caroline,” he greets. “Sameen.”

“What are you doing here?” Shaw asks.

Reese tosses her a set of keys.

Shaking her head, Shaw finally unlocks the door and pushes Root inside.

“You really expect me to believe you forgot to give me the keys?”

Shrugging, Reese presses the remote for the garage door. “Must’ve slipped my mind.”

Dropping the duffel bag to the ground, Shaw kicks the door shut. She quickly assesses the house, tastefully furnished to Finch’s taste with multiple exit routes.

Root licks her lips, leaning against the rail of the staircase. “Gonna give me a tour?”

“Figure it out yourself.”

Root pouts, clasping her hands in front of her.

Shaw’s eyes take their customary roll at Root’s pleading face. She kicks the duffel bag to Root. “Come on.”

“Sure,” Root says, shouldering the bag. “Bedroom?”

“Nice try.”

Root lets the bag slide off her shoulders. She takes a step towards Shaw, mouth hovering by her ear. “How about dessert then?”

“Hope you like cake,” Reese says from the kitchen doorway.

Shaw puts distance between her and Root, nonchalantly leaning against the door. Reese side-eyes her with a smirk.

“John,” Root says, brushing the lint off her shoulders.

“Caroline.”

“Unfortunately we just ate,” Root says, walking past him to inspect the kitchen. “Points for effort though.”

Shaw sidles next to him, speaking in hushed tones. “You were supposed to come tomorrow.”

“Change of plans.”

“Could’ve warned me.”

“Why, did you have other things in mind Shaw?” Reese raises his eyebrows.

“No.”

“Good.” His face falls back into business. “How is she?”

“Still a pain in the ass,” Shaw says. She takes a quick look at Root rummaging through the fridge.

Root spins around, two wine bottles in her hands. “So, red or white?”

“Anything stronger in there?” Shaw asks.

“So glad you asked,” Root says, sliding the wine across the counter. She pulls out a bottle behind her back. “Whiskey.”

“Great, I’ll take a glass.”

While Root pours her the drink, Shaw elbows Reese in the kidney. “Really? Whiskey?”

“Thought you liked Whiskey.”

Shaw stomps on his toes. She smirks, accepting a glass of whiskey from Root, watching as Reese hobbles over to the fridge.

“Staying for dinner then?” Root asks over her wine glass.

“I was in the neighborhood,” Reese says, shrugging. “Sameen forgot the key, I was just being a Good Samaritan.”

Shaw studies Root, no reaction, other than a nod of acknowledgement.

Reese brushes past Shaw, tilting his head down to whisper, “Your itinerary.” He hands her a new burner phone. He straightens up, looking past Shaw to Root. “Have fun Caroline, maybe I’ll see you later.”

“Bye John,” Root waves.

Shaw scrolls through the phone, her lips quirking up.

Shooting range.

That’s more like it.

“What’re you smiling at?” Root asks, bumping her hip against Shaw’s.

“Wanna go shoot something?”

Root grins. “Thought you’d never ask.”

-

Shaw squints at the target. Perfect. She releases her hand.

“Fuck!” she curses.

The arrow embeds itself into the grass, barely reaching midway down the field.

Shaw whips around at the swish of an arrow several feet from her. She glares down the field, bulls eye. Kicking at the ground, Shaw will not let Root show her up, not with this. She grabs another arrow behind her back, knocking it against her bow.

“Here,” Root says behind her.

Twitching, Shaw refuses to let her body respond to Root’s close proximity, especially not when Root presses her chest against Shaw’s back.

“Your stance is a bit off,” Root says, guiding her hips and kicking at her instep.

“No it’s not.”

“This isn’t a gun Sameen.”

Shaw alters her stance whichever way Root positions her.

“Okay, now when you draw, keep that bow arm straight.” Root runs her hand down Shaw’s forearms. “You’ve got lovely strength Sameen, firm biceps.” She squeezes them and Shaw elbows Root sharply. Root chuckles, removing her hand. “You want to use your bones to hold the weight at full draw, not your muscles.”

“Now what?” Shaw asks, drawing the bow.

Root hums. “Relax, do it again with your elbow higher, at least as high as your nose.”

Shaw does so, her arm straining against the weight of the string. “Now?”

Placing her head right next to Shaw, Root moves her arm just slightly and whispers into Shaw’s ear. “Release.”

Her breath hitches, her hand automatically losing the tension. Shaw squeezes her eyes shut.

Root takes a step back, her hand lingering on Shaw’s waist. “Practice a bit more Sameen, least you hit the target this time.”

Shaw growls. Outer most ring.

She glances at Root, marveling at the stance and confidence. Shaw shakes her head and turns on her earpiece. “Really Harold, archery?” she hisses.

“I thought that would suit your needs to shoot something.”

“I like shooting things with guns, not this medieval crap.”

“Well, I’d rather Miss Groves not have any firearms experience.” He pauses. “Are you having difficulty with the activity?”

“No,” she grumbles and mutes the earpiece.

Shaw lets another arrow fly and grins. Bulls eye.

“Nice one Sameen,” Root says. “But you should probably hit your target and not mine.”

Shaw curses; glaring at Root’s smug face like it’s all her damn fault.

-

Rewinding the footage on her laptop, Shaw shifts on her bed, fluffing the pillows behind her back. She presses play once more, tracking Root’s movements through the security camera footage from the Dollhouse feeds. The only way Shaw can describe Root’s gait is smooth, she glides through the space as if she has no worries, no thoughts, nothing. Just like all the other people wearing yoga gear. Mindless. Zombies.

She clicks through other camera points, the hallways, showers, training rooms and what she suspects are bedrooms. Except there aren’t any beds. Shaw zooms in, the footage becoming pixelated. Underground beds.

Glass coffins.

Shaw shakes her head. This place is fucked up.

She pulls out her phone, her thumb hovering over the call button on Finch’s name. It’s 3:04AM. She tosses her phone back on the nightstand and stretches her arms over her head.

Slamming the laptop shut, Shaw makes her way barefoot to the kitchen, getting a cold glass of water. She drains it all in three gulps.

Shaw walks pass Root’s door and backtracks. She turns the doorknob, unlocked. Opening it just a crack, Shaw breathes a sigh of relief. Root’s asleep. Peacefully it seems. She takes a step into the room, the light from the hallway spilling onto the bottom half of the bed. Shaw shakes her head.

“Wanna join me?” Root mumbles, sleep clearly disrupted.

Shaw leans against the doorjamb, nudging the door open. “No, you were snoring.”

“I don’t snore,” Root says. She shifts on the bed, blinking blearily at the light. “Couldn’t sleep?”

“Heard you snoring when I got water.”

Root hums, tugging the sheet down just at tick. “Bed’s warm.”

Shaw scoffs. “Good night Ro-“ she catches herself. “Caroline.”

“Night Sam.”

-

“You cook?” Shaw asks, hip against the counter.

Root cracks another egg one-handed onto the pan, tossing the egg shell in the trash. “Breakfast is easy.”

“Over medium.”

“Can you grab the steak from the fridge?”

Shaw grins, handing her the meat. “Steak for breakfast?”

“Knew you’d like that.”

Shaw pokes at the meat. “It’s a bit thin.”

“Breakfast steaks Sam, not dinner.” Root swats at Shaw’s hand with the spatula.

Phone ringing, Shaw slips it out of her pocket. Finch. “I gotta take this.”

Root nods, sipping her orange juice and prepares another pan for the steak.

“Yea?’ Shaw asks, hovering in the hallway. She peeks her head back in, watching Root butter the pan and toss the steak onto the pan. She licks her lips, hearing the sizzle before the smell reaches her.

“Good morning Miss Shaw.”

“Morning Harold, something important I need to know?”

“How is Miss Groves?”

“Fine. Hasn’t tried to kill me, yet.”

Finch pauses, taking a deep breath. “How is she…behaving?”

Shaw grinds her teeth. “She’s not Root.”

“That was too much to hope for.”

“Why are you really calling Harold?”

“I’d like to come by, tonight preferably.”

Shaw frowns. “Is that a good idea? They’re still out on the street, still in a black van.” Shaw rolls her eyes. Honestly, amateurs. “Probably could call the cops on them though.”

“There are some things I want to see in person.”

“Why? What’s wrong?”

Finch takes too long to answer.

The phone creaks under Shaw’s grip. “Harold?”

“Her hair analysis results.”

“Send them to me.”

Finch sighs, taking a few moments. “You have them now.”

“Want to give me the cliff notes version? What’s got you rattled?” Shaw asks. She opens the file, quickly scanning through the results.

“The analysis goes back one year, before she disappeared –“

“Barbiturates, amphetamines, beta-blockers.” Shaw recites. “Why the hell was she…” She squeezes her eyes shut and exhales. “Control.”

“Yes, it appears that her time with Control affected her more than we imagined. Low-levels of barbiturates and amphetamines, possibly to stop the withdrawal symptoms, but the beta-blockers…and the wide array of calcium channel blockers.”

“Treats heart arrhythmia.” Shaw thumbs through the list. “But she stopped the medication, all of it, three months ago.” She cocks her head. “What are these? Six months ago. Harold, please don’t tell me I’m seeing what I think I am.”

“I’m not sure what I’m looking at Miss Shaw.”

“Harold. They’re anti-psychotic meds, but these, I’m not a neurologist but even I know you can’t prescribe these, all of these meds together. It’ll fuck with her brain might even make her –“

“Appear to be schizophrenic.”

Grinding her teeth audibly, Shaw hisses, “She did this. The machine did this on purpose.”

“We don’t know that Miss Shaw.”

“We both know that She did.” Shaw bumps the back her head against the wall. “What else?”

“Miss Shaw-“

“What else is there?”

“Nothing about Miss Grove’s health, but it does appear that she is no longer dependent on the substances. Not a single trace of barbiturates or amphetamines for the past three months.”

“Great, make you into a zombie, get drug free.”

“I’ve cleaned the sound we heard in the hospital room, here.”

Shaw grimaces, pulling the phone away from her ear. “What the hell? Sounds like a dying cat.”

“Perhaps more than that, but it might have to do with association. Maybe they trained Miss Groves to be compliant hearing this sound. Here I’ll play it again, can you hear anything peculiar about it?”

Shaw points the phone away from her ear, holding it out in front of her.

“That for me?” Root asks, taking it from her.

“Wait.”

Root grins, opening her mouth to say hello as she presses it against her ear. Her head twitches, her face going slack. The phone slips from her hand, thudding to the ground.

“Caroline?” Shaw gingerly steps forward. “You okay?”

Root blinks, smiling serenely. “Did I fall asleep?”


	4. Chapter 4

 

“Root?” Shaw takes a cautious step forward, hands up in a placating fashion.

Root blinks, still smiling softly with unfocused eyes.

“Root,” Shaw says again, directly in front of her.

“My name is Whiskey.” Root, well Whiskey, blinks and cocks her head. “Shall I go now?”

“No, you uh…” Shaw leads her by the shoulders to the couch and points to it. “Sit here, don’t move.”

“Miss Shaw?” Finch’s voice pipes up from the abandoned cellphone.

She grabs the phone, leaning against the wall as she keeps an eye on Whiskey.

“We have a problem,” Shaw says, “She just went from being fake Root to pod person in the span of five seconds.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Root took the phone, heard that screeching and now she calls herself Whiskey.” Shaw shuffles closer to Whiskey, who hasn’t moved an inch. “She’s not right, this isn’t…Harold it’s like her entire personality just got sucked out.”

“Put her on the phone, maybe we can reverse it.”

Shaw puts the phone against Whiskey’s ear, she cringes at the tone blaring from the phone even with an arm’s length away. Whiskey once again goes slack, her eyes glazing over.

“Did I fall asleep?” Whiskey asks again, blinking at Shaw.

“Yea,” Shaw answers. “You did, just sit here and don’t move.”

Shaw takes the phone back, shaking her head. “That didn’t work, it just…restarted her brain or whatever. She asked me if she fell asleep, that happened before.”

“Yes, at the hospital room too.”

“What do we do now?”

“We’ll figure it out Miss Shaw.”

-

“Miss Groves?” Finch asks, sitting in front of her. He tries to catch her eyes with his, she never fully looks at him. “Miss Groves?”

“Whiskey,” Shaw says next to him.

Whiskey immediately turns to her, smiling again.

“Is that your name, Whiskey?” Finch asks.

Whiskey nods her head.

Shaw leaves them in the living room, going to Reese who’s peeking out the blinds, checking the perimeter.

“How is she?” he asks.

“Still a zombie.” Shaw taps her finger against the wall. “We need to get her a brain scan.”

Reese lets go of the blinds. “An MRI?”

“No, we don’t know what’s up with her cochlear implant.”

“I thought she didn’t have it anymore.”

Shaw shakes her head. “We don’t know that, just cause I couldn’t feel it doesn’t mean something isn’t in there, something metal.”

“We can take her to a hospital.”

“You know we can’t.”

Shaw inhales sharply. “Something is wrong with her brain. They did something to her.”

“Even if we did, we don’t have a scan of Root’s to compare it to.”

“We can at least see what the hell is going on in her head, cause that,” Shaw points vaguely to the living room, “that isn’t right. That’s not Root and it sure as hell isn’t Caroline or Robin or anyone with a brain.”

Reese nods. “There’s a back way, unmonitored, and a doctor who owes us a favor.”

-

“I’ll just be in the other room,” Shaw says, patting Whiskey on the arm. “Lay still, don’t move your head.”

Whiskey nods, turning her head to stare straight up to the ceiling.

Shaw steps in next to the MRI technician, crossing her arms over her chest while he readies the scan.

“This might take a while if you’d –“

“I’m staying.” Shaw stares at him until he nods and goes back to work.

She pulls out her phone to text while keeping an eye on the technician and on Whiskey.

 **[Shaw]  
** Having fun?

 **[John]**  
Sitting on a chair watching a black van. Lots of fun.

 **[Shaw]  
**  No movement?

 **[John]**  
None.

Shaw glances up, no change. Her phone buzzes again.

 **[John]  
**  How is she?

 **[Shaw]**  
She’s laying down getting a brain scan, how do you think she’s doing?

 **[John]  
**  No freaking out?

 **[Shaw]  
**  No. Perfectly good zombie.

Shoving her phone back into her pocket, Shaw stares through the window. Whiskey hasn’t even twitched.

 

Two hours later, Shaw steers Whiskey in a wheelchair after promises from the technician to have the results as soon as possible. Finch’s connections did bump them to the top of the least.

Whiskey turns to her, smiling. “It feels nice.”

“What feels nice?” Shaw asks.

Whiskey puts her hand out and ruffles her own hair.

“The air.”

“You mean the wind?”

Tilting her head, Whiskey blinks.

Shaw stops wheels them to her car, opening the passenger door and letting Whiskey get in while Shaw shoves the wheelchair off to the side. Someone will get it later, most likely an intern.

“Is that what it’s called?” Whiskey asks.

“What’s called?”

“The feeling.” Whiskey puts her hands out.

“The air blowing at you is called wind.”

Shaw buckles her in as Whiskey marvels at it still.

“Wind.” Whiskey turns to her. “Can I paint now?”

“You paint?”

Whiskey nods.

Starting the car, Shaw grunts in the affirmative. “Yea, you can paint, when we get back.”

-

Reese ducks his head into the living room, staring at Shaw kneeling on the floor with Whiskey.

“What?” Shaw asks, not turning away from Whiskey painting with watercolors.

“Food’s here,” he says, walking over to them. He tilts his head, motioning to the few pieces of paper scattered around the low table. “So…uh…what are you painting?”

Whiskey turns to him, serene smile on her face. A side of Reese’s face lifts up, reciprocating her smile with his own cringe worthy one.

 “Run out of paper there Shaw?” He gestures to the black marks on Whiskey’s inner forearm.

Whiskey stops painting and turns her blank stare to him. Reese holds her uncomfortable look for a moment before pointing to her mess of an arm. “What’s that?”

Looking to her arm, Whiskey traces the dried paint and her fingertips go to Shaw’s arm, touching her USMC tattoo. “I like this,” Whiskey says reverently.

Reese raises his eyebrows at Shaw who pointedly ignores him. He turns his attention to the other art forms.

“A seashell?” he asks, picking one of her paintings.

Shaw pulls it out of his hand and places it back neatly. “What’d you get?”

“Chinese.”

She narrows her eyes. “From where?”

“Don’t worry it’s from Chinatown.”

Shaw nods, placated. She pats Whiskey on the shoulder. “You hungry?”

Whiskey puts down her paintbrushes and stares at her stained hands. “Yes.”

“You wanna wash those?”

“Yes please.”

Shaw lingers at the edge of the room, waiting for Whiskey. She sighs when all Whiskey does is stare at her. “Follow me.”

Whiskey complies.

“Least she listens to instructions,” Reese says. He shuffles around Whiskey’s drawings, all of them the same in different colors. “Guess she likes seashells.”

-

Whiskey focuses solely on eating her food with chopsticks. Feeling eyes on her, she looks up, staring at three curious stares and smiles back.

“Food is good,” she says and goes back to eating.

The three share a look and Shaw shakes her head, shoveling a glop of noodles into her mouth. “That’s creepy,” she says.

Reese shrugs his shoulders and nods his head in agreement. “You weren’t kidding about pod person.”

“Should we be talking about this in front of her?” Finch asks, sparing a concerned glance towards Whiskey.

She picks at another piece of noodle, slipping it into her mouth and not paying them any attention.

“I don’t think she understands,” Reese says.

“Least she can feed herself,” Shaw says, taking another peek at Whiskey. “And paint.”

Finch leans on the table. “Yet her consciousness is similar to that of a child’s.”

“Think she can shoot a gun?” Shaw muses while chewing.

Finch shoots her a scandalized look. “Ms. Shaw,” he chides.

“What? Just asking. Maybe she’s a robot with skills and all you have to do is ask her to do something.”

“I don’t think that’s how it works,” Finch says, poking at his food.

Shaw studies him and narrows her eyes. “Something you not telling us?”

“It’s more of a theory. Ms. Groves’s entire being, her self is simplified at the source for the sole purpose of modifying her, mold her into anything they want her to be,” Finch says.

“Or they turn them into zombies so they don’t start a revolt,” Shaw says, pointing to him with her chopsticks. “I sure as hell wouldn’t let them fuck with my brain if I was aware.”

“That might be a factor too yes, but the human brain can only store so much information. They construct literal people, whole personalities. Think of a limited space in a harddrive, it wouldn’t fit, it could possibly even make her brain implode.”

“She’s not a computer Harold,” Shaw scoffs.

“The human brain isn’t altogether that different.”

Reese puts down his food and taps his fingers on the table. “I think the bigger question is, can we get Root back? Is she still in there?” he says, pointing to Whiskey’s head.

“Only one way to find out,” Shaw says with a grin. “Hey Whiskey, you want to shoot something?”

-

In their vast backyard set up with multiple targets, Finch shakes his head.

“Ms. Shaw, I don’t believe the sounds of gunshots are in any way inconspicuous in the suburbs.”

Shaw shoves the magazine into her pistol and sets it down on the table next to Whiskey. “Have a little faith Harold.”

A few seconds later, the sky lights up with fireworks.

“Gotta love the suburban fever for high school football,” Shaw says to Finch’s questioning look.

She hands Whiskey two guns.

“Ms. Shaw, perhaps handing her two loaded guns while we are in the vicinity is not the smartest of ideas.”

“Maybe you should go back in the house, help John watch the van.”

Finch purses his lips and walks away, throwing the one last concerned glance before heading into the house.

“Alright, now you see that red dot?” Shaw asks, pointing to the targets. “Your goal is to shoot them.”

Whiskey nods and holds up her arms.

“Wait,” Shaw says, putting on the earmuffs and safety goggles on Whiskey before putting them on herself. She nods at Whiskey to shoot.

Whiskey empties her guns and stares at them in wonder when they click empty. She sets them down and turns to Shaw with an expectant look. “Did I do my best?”

Shaw takes off their earmuffs and whistles when she takes a look at the targets. “Hell yea,” she says. The targets have holes straight into the middle, all clustered shots.

She leads them both back in the house and shrugs at Finch’s wide-eyed stare at the decimated targets in their yard. “Let’s see what you can do with a computer.”

“You couldn’t have suggested that first?” Finch asks, taking out a laptop.

“Muscle memory first,” Shaw says with a shrug.

“You sure it isn’t to see Root with two guns again?” Reese teases.

“Here.” Finch places the laptop in front of Whiskey. “Let’s start with something easy. Could you hack into Yahoo for me Whiskey?”

Whiskey stares at the screen and then back to Finch. She doesn’t move to touch the computer.

“You know what this is?” Shaw pats the computer.

Whiskey shakes her head.

“Okay, guess we can cross out computer skills.”

Whiskey yawns, looking around the room expectantly. “Shall I sleep now?” she asks.

Sighing at Reese and Finch’s expectant look, Shaw points Whiskey to the staircase. “Come on.”

“Good night Ms. Shaw,” Finch says, tidying up the table. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Not gonna stay?” Shaw asks at the top of the stairs.

“I believe you have everything in hand.”

“Have fun Shaw,” Reese says, smirking. “Hope she doesn’t go Norman Bates on you.”

Shaw rolls her eyes, flips him off and directs Whiskey to her room. She does a cursory check for weapons, especially now that Whiskey can in fact shoot just as well as Root can. Whiskey checks the bedroom, turning away from the bed and goes to the bathtub instead, laying down.

“What are you doing?” Shaw asks, leaning against the door frame.

Shifting in the bathtub, Whiskey answers “Sleeping.”

Sunken coffins as beds.

Shaw shakes her head and takes Whiskey’s arm. “Come on, you’re not sleeping there.”

While Whiskey stands to the side of the bed, not doing anything, Shaw grunts and rips off the bed sheets. If Root makes any wisecrack about Shaw tucking her into bed after all this is over she’s going to give Root back that scar on her shoulder.

Whiskey lays down, her hands over the covers on her stomach and she closes her eyes.

Hearing Whiskey’s breathing slow down, Shaw sits at the arm chair across the room, her gun ready with the safety off on the table.

Shaw closes her eyes for a moment, just for a little bit. She cracks an eye open at the rustling sheets, seeing Whiskey’s head twitch to the side.

-

The next morning, Reese comes back into the kitchen, a box of donuts in one hand and a tray of coffee in the other. He hands it to Shaw who takes it gratefully and nearly scalds her tongue in her haste to drink the much needed caffeine.

Reese raises an eyebrow and takes a bite out of his jelly donut. “Long night?”

“Next time you can watch her sleep.”

“Didn’t take you for the Edward Cullen type Shaw.”

Shaw glares at him, swiping a donut from the box. “Had to make sure she wouldn’t kill us in her sleep.”

“And? Did she have any Shining tendencies?”

“No,” Shaw answers, dunking her donut in her coffee. “She slept like a log. Literally.”

Reese shrugs. “Maybe Root sleeps like that.”

“She doesn’t.”

“You sound sure of that, something you’d like to say?”

Shaw rolls her eyes. “CIA safe house, perv.”

“Good morning Ms. Shaw, Mr. Reese,” Finch greets as he goes over to them and picks up a donut. “Where’s Ms. Groves?”

“Taking a shower.”

“Is it wise to leave her alone?”

“You wanna stand in the bathroom while she’s showering? Be my guest Harold.”

Finch flushes red and wisely looks away.

“She could drown in there Shaw,” Reese says with a smirk. “Might be a good idea to keep a close eye on her.”

“She has basic survival instincts, she’s not going to drown.”

Reese turns to the side and his smirk instantly drops, he pulls Finch and decidedly stares at the wall in front of them. “Basic instincts that don’t include clothes.”

Shaw frowns and looks at the hallway. Whiskey stands there with her wet hair dripping water onto the hardwood floors.

“Ms. Shaw, please help Ms. Groves get dressed.”

She grunts and shoulders past them. “Seriously she’s in a towel.” Shaw takes Whiskey’s arm and drags her up the stairs.

Shaw throws the basics on Whiskey’s bed. “Here, you can dress yourself right?”

Whiskey nods and drops the towel.

Shaw averts her eyes and stares at the ceiling while her hands curl into fists. She didn’t see. She did not see her breasts. Totally. Did. Not. See. Root. Naked. Not at all.

Except she did and Shaw’s barely a second glance confirms that Whiskey doesn’t have a single scar on her when she should have dozens.

A few moments in and Shaw looks back to Whiskey who’s thankfully fully dressed and just staring off into space. Shaw shakes her head, motioning for Whiskey to follow her back down.

Bear runs up to them both at the bottom of the staircase, excitedly wagging his tail at Shaw. He sniffs at Whiskey and tilts his head to the side. Whiskey blinks, holding out her hand and Bear runs his head under her hands, barking at the attention.

Shaw raises an eyebrow. That’s more attention Root would’ve given Bear.

She shakes her head, joining the rest of the team in the kitchen while Whiskey stands there petting Bear.

“We’ve established that Ms. Groves has kept a few of her skills,” Finch says. “But whether or not her memories are intact is an entirely different matter.” He pulls out a folder and lays them out on the table. “Her brain scans. This one is a normal brain of a woman her age.”

Shaw compares the two, her eyebrows furrowing. She points at a separate scan. “And that one?”

“A child’s.”

Reese puts together Whiskey’s and the child’s. “These look alike.”

“Yes, that’s the problem. Her brain right now is of a child’s.”

Shaw clenches her jaw. “You’re saying she’s not Root.”

“I’m afraid so Ms. Shaw. We don’t know who she is at the moment.”

“I think Bear knows that too,” Reese says, pointing his chin towards the duo.

Bear’s wagging his tail, pouncing and playing with Whiskey. She takes it all in, smiling and stroking Bear’s fur.

“Dogs do have a keener sense of personality,” Finch says. He shakes his head and steels his resolve. “We have no choice, Ms. Groves must return to the Dollhouse.”

Shaw whirls around, pinning him with a glare and look of disbelief which Finch prepared himself for. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Ms. Shaw –“

“No. You see how they fucked with her brain, look at her!”

“I know that Ms. Shaw,” Finch says. He swallows and averts his eyes from her accusing gaze. “They are the only ones who would have the means to bring Ms. Groves back.”

“We don’t know that.” Shaw’s jaw clenches, her eyes darkening. “We don’t even know what they do to her in there.”

“The Machine –“

Shaw blows out a breath in frustration. “The Machine let this happen. She…It can’t protect Root.”

“It couldn’t see what was happening to her,” Finch says. “But it can now.”

“What’d you do?”

“Last time we were there, I routed the surveillance feeds to give the Machine encrypted access.”

Seeing Shaw continue to glare at Finch, Reese says, “The Machine can see her, but it won’t be able to help her Finch. Even if we managed to get Root back, she doesn’t have a cochlear implant anymore and no signals can get through the building.”

“The problem still stands,” Finch says. “We don’t have a choice, the Dollhouse is the only option we have to get Root back.”

“And just how are we going to do that? Pretty please can you undo whatever you did to Root’s brain?”

“She has a point Finch,” Reese says. “Whatever the Dollhouse is doing, it’s protected. They’d more likely tie up loose ends, kill Root and us.”

“We’re not going to ask,” Finch says, his expression turning cold. “We’re going to make them.”


	5. Chapter 5

 

“Thank you for coming in Ms. Gray,” DeWitt says, gesturing to the sofa. “Please have a seat.”

Shaw glances at the hidden security camera, quick enough to be undetected to the human eye, but that isn’t the point. The Machine would know the barely veiled threat her glare possesses.

“Is she going to be okay?” Shaw asks, wringing her hands in mock concern. “She was…”

“Don’t worry Ms. Gray, tea?” DeWitt already pours her a cup and slides it over the table to Shaw. “She’ll be perfectly fine in our care. I’m terribly sorry about the mishap.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Shaw says, waving her hand dismissively in the air. “I’m just glad she’ll be fine.”

“Yes, well, we do have a few questions.”

Shaw nods.

“Could you tell me what happened? We’d like to understand the unfortunate incident.”

Shaw bites her lip, her body wound tight, overflowing with concern and fear. “Can I just…see her? I just want to make sure she’s okay.” She casts DeWitt some watery eyes. “Please.”

DeWitt smiles after a few seconds and nods her head. “Of course Ms. Gray.”

“Thank you,” Shaw says, her posture relaxing. She smiles gratefully at DeWitt.

DeWitt picks up her phone and Shaw goes to stand by the large windows, gazing out in what appears to be contemplation while she sticks a black circular disk onto the gap of the window.

“She’ll be joining us after her treatment,” DeWitt says. “In the meantime Ms. Gray, if you could shed some light on the situation.”

“Right,” Shaw says, backing away from the windows and sitting back onto the sofa. “I mean, she was…she was Caroline,” Shaw says with a slight smile, watching DeWitt nod approvingly.

The lights flicker in the office, going off for a few seconds before turning back on. Shaw looks around her, confused. “What was that?” she asks.

DeWitt forces a placating smile. “There’s been some utility malfunctions in the area recently.” She picks up her phone from her desk.

Checking the time, Shaw puts one finger out as she brushes her hair back, turning on her earpiece. Nothing but static.

“It seems there’s a blackout affecting several blocks in the area,” DeWitt says, sitting back down.

“The lights are still on here, backup generators?”

DeWitt nods, refilling Shaw’s cup of tea.

The secondhand on Shaw’s watch hits 12 and she sets her teacup down. “I just have a question of my own.”

DeWitt gives her the go ahead.

“Where do you keep the backup brains of the people you zombify?”

The window explodes and DeWitt takes cover while Shaw walks over splintered wood and shattered glass. She taps her fingers to her forehead, giving a salute out of the window. Shaw looks forlornly at the H.E round of their Barrett XM109 scattered across the wall. Reese better take good care of her baby for her, she’s using it next.

“ _Two guards incoming,”_ Reese says through her comms.

Shaw rushes next to the door and yanks the gun out of the first guard’s hand as he rushes in. She shoots out his kneecaps and the second guard who didn’t even have time to raise his weapon. She takes away his gun from the ground and stuffs it in the back of her pants.

Hauling DeWitt to her feet, Shaw places her squarely in front. “Call them off or I shoot you.”

“What do you hope to achieve Ms. Gray? You can’t possibly think you’d be able to leave here with your mind still intact.”

Shaw shoves the barrel of her gun tighter against DeWitt’s neck. “Who say’s I want to leave?”

_“One o’clock,_ ” Reese says in her ear.

She fires, hitting one of the men and her gun goes back to DeWitt’s head. “Make them go into their little coffin beds and your guards too.”

“Do as she says.”

“Ms. DeWitt—“

“Go.”

“They’re gone,” DeWitt says.

_“Three bogeys in the hallway,”_ Reese says.

Grabbing a silver letter opener from DeWitt’s table Shaw slashes deep into DeWitt’s arm. She hisses, grasping her arm as the blood pools over her fingers. There’s no doubt that it will scar.

“That’s for lying to me,” Shaw says, tapping the knife against DeWitt’s neck. “Now, the next one will be a bullet.”

DeWitt takes a walkie from her desk. “Stand down, send all actives to bed and stay with them.”

“Not Whiskey.”

DeWitt narrows her eyes but complies. “Topher, leave Whiskey in the chair.”

“Sure thing,” Topher says, his voice crackling through the walkie. “But uh…are you okay there boss lady? Am I going to be okay? What’s going on –“

Shaw turns down the volume. “Where is she?” Shaw asks.

“We have to take the elevator down.”

_“Follow her,”_ Reese says. _“I’ll be there in 10.”_

Shaw listens, letting DeWitt lead the way.

Once the elevator doors open, Shaw keeps DeWitt in front of her, gun poking in her back.

“Oh thank god,” Topher says from across the room. “You’re bleeding, Adelle are you okay? We should get a doctor. What’s going on? Why have all the actives gone to bed? It’s the afternoon, I still have a backlog and Whiskey is still going through diagnostics so…”

They pass by a chair, with Root…well Whiskey in it. She looks at Shaw, no recognition in her eyes but a small smile across her lips.

“Hello,” Whiskey greets.

“Hi,” Shaw says, quickly scanning Whiskey for any injuries. None that she can see at least.

DeWitt stands to the side, watching their interaction and Topher finally notices Shaw there.

“Okay, girl with a gun, pointed at me,” he says, hands up in the air. “Don’t shoot the equipment, please.”

“Get her original,” Shaw commands.

“Ms. Gray, Whiskey came to us because she had a problem that only we could fix,” DeWitt says. “This act of heroics will not do her any good.”

“Original. Now.”

“If you could Mr. Brink.”

“Her original is a bit…” Topher points to his own head and twirls his fingers around, crazy. “I have Whiskey 2.0 all ready to go, I know I have five years to do it but I was working on Sierra’s and her brain chemistry was so similar to Whiskey’s and shouldn’t –“

“Get her original,” Shaw interrupts, gun trained on his head. “Now.”

“It might be best to show Ms. Gray the condition Whiskey came to us in.”

Topher shakes his head, going to a panel on the wall and punching in a code. A rack of harddrives spin about and he selects one. Robin Farrow.

Shaw studies the harddrive in his hands. “How does it work?”

He takes a hesitant step towards her and points to the mechanism behind Whiskey’s head. A space where the harddrive would go in.

“What you just insert that and poof, she’s herself again?”

“It’s a lot more complicated than that,” he says, mouth opening to explain the science. Shaw raise an eyebrow and gestures with her gun. “But essentially yes.”

“Try anything and I’ve got a bullet with your name on it.”

Topher nods, shoving the harddrive in and goes to the computer, programming Whiskey.

The chair lowers, a blue light emitting from the head region and Whiskey’s body seizes up, her face clenched in pain for a few seconds and the chair shuts off. It rises back up and Whiskey twitches.

Her arms fly to her head and she holds her knees to her chest, rocking in the chair.

“Root?”

She glances at Shaw, recognition blooming for a moment and she closes off again, rocking faster and faster.

“This is wrong wrong wrong,” Root says. “God isn’t here. God isn’t here.”

“Root…do you know who I am?”

“Honey. Pancakes. Honey. Sweetie. Here. I can hear. I can’t hear Her. I can hear you. I can’t hear Her. I can hear you.” Root digs her nails into the right side of her ear. “I can’t hear Her. I can’t I can’t I can’t I can’t.”

Shaw yanks Root’s hand away from her head, frowning at the blood coated on Root’s nails. She takes her earpiece off, glancing at the camera at the corner of the room before slipping it into Root’s ear.

Root stills. Her lips curving into a blinding smile. “Absolutely.” She turns to Shaw, still smiling. “I can hear Her. I can hear you. I can hear.”

“You wanna get out of here?”

“You can’t do that,” Topher says. “I mean obviously you can, you have the gun, but Whiskey isn’t…look at her! She’s still a paranoid schizophrenic, her brain is still jumbled and messy and we can fix her.”

Shaw shares a smile with Root. “She doesn’t need to be fixed.”

“Are we seeing the same thing here? She’s talking like a crazy person.”

“There are three flowers in a vase, the third flower is green,” DeWitt says.

Root’s head snaps up, her eyes going out of focus, just like when she’s in God Mode.

Except she isn’t.

Root body slams Shaw into a wall, both of them wrestling for the gun. Shaw hisses, throwing Root out of the room to the next one. Root tumbles across the table, taking a computer monitor along with her.

“What the hell?” Shaw hisses, gun pointing at Root.

Hurling a can of soda straight at Shaw, Root disarms Shaw by slapping her gun out of her grip and smashing the heel of her palm straight into Shaw’s nose.

Shaw reflexively tumbles back, clutching at her bleeding face and growls. If Root wants to fight, well Shaw’s going to give it to her. She grabs Root’s shoulders, kneeing her twice in the stomach and bangs Root’s head against the table.

She pulls out her backup piece, firing straight into Root’s shoulder as she comes at her.

Moaning in pain, Root drops to the ground, holding her injured shoulder. She shakes it off, preparing to rush Shaw again but Shaw pistol whips her against the temple. Root drops down unconscious.

The elevator in the other room dings and Shaw focuses on that while keeping an eye on Topher and Whiskey. She frowns.

Where’s DeWitt?

“Ms. Shaw,” Finch says, stepping off into the room with Reese. “I apologize for the tardiness, the firewalls were a bit trickier to manipulate.”

Shaw nods.

“How did you get in here?” Topher points to Finch, puzzled.

Finch ignores him, heading to the computer near Shaw and plugs in a USB drive into it. “Where’s the monitor?” he asks.

Shaw points to the broken pieces on the ground.

“Hold on, what are you doing?” Topher takes a step towards him only to put his hands up in surrender when both Reese and Shaw level their guns at him.

“Your computer isn’t connected to any system in the Dollhouse,” Finch says. “Presumably to avoid any attempts at hacking. This is where you hack into people’s minds isn’t it Mr. Brink?”

“What do you want?”

“We just want our friend back, without the added trigger phrases.”

Topher nods. “Okay, I can do that.” He turns to the chair and freezes.

The slot with Root’s harddrive is empty.

“That was just there,” Topher says.

“DeWitt,” Shaw growls.

Reese cocks his head to the side, listening. He runs to the bannister and shoots, nailing DeWitt in the knees while she’s running away with Root’s harddrive. She collapses to the ground next to the koi pond.

Racing down the stairs, Shaw keeps her gun on DeWitt but she holds out her arm with Root’s harddrive over the koi pond.

“You don’t want to do that,” Shaw warns. “Slide it over to me.”

“I don’t think I will,” DeWitt answers.

“It’s useless to stall for time,” Reese says, walking over to her from the other side. “Your security is locked in, security protocols.”

DeWitt frowns.

“Slide the drive over,” Shaw says. “You have five seconds.”

“And then you’ll shoot me?”

“Yes.”

“You care a great deal for Whiskey,” DeWitt says, wiggling the harddrive over the water’s surface.

“You expect me to believe you don’t have a backup?”

“Are you willing to bet her life on that?”

Shaw’s jaw clenches. She lowers the gun, Reese mirroring her.

DeWitt smirks, eyes drifting past Shaw. Shaw ducks just in time for a bullet to graze her cheek and Reese shoots at Root, not hitting her but forcing her to duck.

A heavy thunk in the water makes Shaw pause. She looks at DeWitt who stares in horror at the harddrive sinking into the pond.

Shaw shoots her in the other knee.

On the second floor, Finch freezes in place, eyeing the barrel of the gun pointed at his head. He swallows, seeing his former friend regard him as nothing but blankness in her eyes. Squeezing his eyes shut, Finch lowers his head, resolved to his fate.

Root’s finger depresses the trigger but her head tilts to the side. Her entire body goes limp and her face completely blank.

Her gun arm goes down. “Did I fall asleep?”

Finch exhales in relief and turns to the camera at the corner of the room with a grateful smile.

“Is she wiped?” Topher asks, studying her closely. “Who wiped her? How did she get wiped?”

“Whiskey?” Shaw asks, gun aimed at her kneecaps.

Whiskey grins at Shaw, nodding.

Shaw carefully takes back her gun with a scowl. Should’ve done that beforehand.

 “Give us back our friend or else I let Shaw here shoot you,” Reese says, coming up with the waterlogged harddrive as he drags DeWitt behind him. Reese zipties her to the railing. “Try anything again and we’ll let you bleed out.”

DeWitt wisely keeps her mouth shut, only glaring at him with hatred.

“I can’t use this,” Topher says, flicking the water off the harddrive.

“Then get your back up,’ Shaw says.

“Mr. Brink, if you put any other programming into her, trust that we will know,” Finch says, patting the computer with the USB drive still in it.

Topher mutely nods and lets Reese escort him to the backroom, coming back with another harddrive labeled ‘Robin Farrow’.

He sets it into the cradle of his computer, plugging in a secondary monitor and getting to work. Topher stops. He fiddles with the drive again but the drive doesn’t show up.

“Problem?” Shaw asks, tapping her gun against her palm.

“What security protocol did you do?” Topher asks Finch, his eyes wide.

“Alpha.”

“Oh no. That’s not good. You shouldn’t have down that,” Topher mutters, his hands weaving in the air. “Really really shouldn’t have done that.”

DeWitt chuckles.

“What are you laughing at?” Shaw demands.

Topher answers, “That security protocol was a safety measure, it wipes all of the drives. All of them.”

Finch shakes his head. “Why would you do that? What good what that possibly do?”

“Then you’re of no use are you?” Shaw cocks her gun.

“Wait wait! I have backups of the backups!” Topher scrambles. He pulls out a drawer and takes out another drive with Robin Farrow. “I never told anyone about them, just in case.”

Shaw turns to DeWitt who definitely wears a frown. She didn’t know about them.

“I was working on repairing Whiskey’s brain, it’s downloaded on here, no more paranoid schizophrenia.”

“And the trigger phrases?” Finch asks.

“I haven’t done them, it was purely just to get rid of the psychosis.”

Shaw and Finch nod, letting Topher go to Whiskey.

“Whiskey, would you like a treatment?” he asks her gently.

“Yes please.”

Whiskey walks to the chair, sitting down and waiting patiently for it to begin. Shaw’s jaw clenches, watching Whiskey turn into Root through blue lights around her head. It only takes a few seconds before the chair comes back up and Root blinks, looking around. Her eyes skate past Shaw and go to Finch, she smiles.

“Uncle Harry?”

Finch frowns, glancing at Shaw before stepping next to her. “Miss Groves?”

“Very funny,” Root says, raising her eyebrows. She shifts in her chair and looks around her. Touching her bleeding shoulder, she winces and pulls her hand back, rubbing the blood between her fingertips. “Where am I? What happened?”

“Root?” Shaw asks.

She shakes her head and points to Shaw’s nose. “You’re bleeding.”

“I’m fine.” Shaw absently wipes at the drying blood with the back of her hand. “Are you okay?”

Root shrugs. “A bit confused, but I guess I’m okay.” She bites her lip, apprehensive. “Did I have an episode again? Is this Stoneridge?”

“Ms. Farrow?” Finch asks, voice cracking.

“You know you can call me Robin, Uncle Harry.”

-

“Harold, where the hell is he?”

Finch’s steps stutter to a halt. He breathes in deep and shuts the door to their safe house. “Mr. Brink is in FBI custody.”

“Why?”

“Ms. Shaw –“

“Why did you let our only chance of getting Root back go?” Shaw crosses her arms over her chest, eyes narrowing dangerously.

“We’ve kept Mr. Brink for over a month. He still needs to answer for the crimes he committed.”

Shaw shakes her head. “He’s the only person who could fix Root.”

“He’s tried everything Ms. Shaw, maybe –“

“No.” Shaw points an accusing finger at him. “You don’t get to decide that. I’m not giving up on her.” She stalks around the safe house, gathering weapons into a large duffel.

“What are you doing?”

“Getting him back.”

Finch hovers near her, careful to maintain his distance. “Are you really going to break into the FBI to get him back?”

Shaw pauses, throwing another grenade into the bag. She shakes her head, ignoring him and slamming the drawer shut.

“Ms. Shaw, please. I care for Ms. Groves too.”

“You already gave up on her,” Shaw hisses.

His face contorts into shame, looking away from Shaw’s glare. “Hope is painful Sameen. I don’t think Root is recoverable.” He shifts uncomfortable in place and steels his resolve. “Perhaps this is for the best.”

Shaw narrows her eyes, jaw clenching. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“With the life we’ve led, a good ending is a privilege,” Finch says, echoing Root’s sentiment. “Maybe this is what Root deserves.”

“She deserves to have her mind fucked over like that?”

“The only thing she had to look forward to was death.”

“No, it isn’t.” Shaw breathes in deep, shaking her head. “If he can’t fix her, then something else can.”

Shaw turns to the row of computer monitors and fixes a stare at the webcam. “You got her into this mess, you have all their data. Fix it.”

The monitors remain blank, but the webcam blinks into life.

“You can hear me, I said fix it. Get Root back.”

The monitors turn on, letters scrambling to form words.

I AM SORRY.

Shaw punches out the monitor. She shakes off the burn and wipes her bloody knuckles against her coat. Glaring at the webcam, Shaw demands, “Fix. It. Fix her.”

The monitor next to her turns on.

I AM SORRY.

I AM SORRY.

I AM SORRY.

“Don’t tell me you’re sorry,” Shaw says, eerily calm. She leaves the bag of weapons on the ground and walks out, never turning back.


	6. Epilogue

 

An hour long delay and change into her flight plans, with a stopover in New York plus miraculously stopping an attempted murder on the plane and Shaw steps out of the cab. No doubt the Machine’s interference.

Shaw glares at a traffic camera, shaking her head.

“I’m leaving on the first flight out of here and if you try to stop me I’m blowing up a building,” Shaw says.

She walks down the street, avoiding all the ringing payphones and goes across the way to avoid the next row of them. Halfway down the block, a bike messenger, who’s talking on his phone and drinking coffee, careens next to her and forces Shaw to dodge into a building. She scrambles to hold onto something and catches onto a forearm extended out to her.

“You okay?”

Shaw freezes. She turns, seeing Root, no it’s Robin now,  with a concerned smile.

Robin’s eyebrows furrow together. “Don’t I know you?”

Shaw shakes her head. “Thanks,” she says, taking back her arm. She takes one last look at Robin, no she’ll always be Root, and turns away, walking on.

Her cellphone buzzes. Shaw grits her teeth, checking her text.

_STAY._

She shakes her head.

_STAY._

“Isn’t this what you and Harold wanted?” Shaw says. “Her having a normal life?”

_STAY._

“Does Harold know what you’re doing?”

The Machine takes a moment to respond.

_NO._

Shaw chuckles. “Going against daddy’s wishes then? Rebellious.”

_STAY._

“I can’t do this.”

_PLEASE._

“You’re going to keep bugging me until I talk to her aren’t you?”

_YES._

Growling, Shaw shoves the phone back into her jeans and enters the building. She pulls off her beanie and walks across the hardwood floors, eyes scanning the portraits across the walls.

“Hi there,” Robin says, walking in step with Shaw.

“You take all these?” Shaw points to the framed photos. “You’re a photographer?”

“Sort of, it’s a bit of a hobby of mine.”

“What’s your day job then?”

Robin shrugs. “Don’t really have one right now.”

Shaw stands in front of a blue seashell, tilting her head to the side. “Maybe you should be one, this looks nice. You have a thing for seashells?”

“Kind of,” Robin says, leaning in close to Shaw. “It’s more of a fascination with the Spiral of Theodorus.”

Shaw shrugs, prompting Robin to explain.

“It’s also called the square root spiral.” She traces the spiral of the seashell. “It’s made by square root of each triangle here.”

“Root?”

“Yea, the square root.”

Shaw casts her eyes downward. “Right, square root.”

“Right, I’m Robin,” she introduces herself, holding her hand out for Shaw to shake.

“Sam,” Shaw says, gently taking her hand.

Robin cocks her head to the side, her lips quirked to the side. “Sam, is that short for something, Samantha maybe?”

Holding down a grimace, Shaw smiles politely instead.

“Sameen.”

Shaw’s eyes widen. “What?”

“Your name, is it Sameen?”

“How did…?”

Robin shrugs, “Just a feeling.” She turns on her charming smile, the flirty one Shaw always rebuked. “And I also think you like steak. There’s a great steak joint just a few blocks away.”

“Are you asking me out?”

“Is that a yes?”

Shaw’s hands curl into a fist. She squeezes her eyes shut, making a split second decision. “Absolutely.”

Smiling brightly, Robin leads Shaw out. Shaw sneaks glances at Robin, noting the happy look and bouncy gait. Just like Root.

“You know, you don’t look like a Robin,” Shaw says.

“Oh? And what do I look like?”

“Root.”

Robin’s head tilts. She chews on her lower lip and frowns before nodding her head. “I like it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started this fic cause I imagined Shaw punching out a monitor a la Captain America style (cause she's super pissed at the machine) and well, this is the result of that image.


End file.
